


Pastel Lilies (Revised)

by Mayte



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mayte/pseuds/Mayte
Summary: He didn’t reach out his hand to grab her shoulder, but she stopped anyways. “You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to talk about it with me. But you should talk about it with someone.” His sincerity made whatever tears she had left well up in her eyes. “I’m not any good with this stuff, so I might mess up and say the wrong thing, but I really think you should talk about it. It might help you find a way to make sense of what you’re going through right now.”“Gaius,” she slowly turned towards him, “I’m just tired. I’m tired of trying to, to---I feel awful more days than I feel happy.”





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, 
> 
> You may be wondering what happened to the other chapters, so I will use this space to explain. I am Grade A idiot and overlooked an option that I was looking for. Without meaning to I deleted the entire work...but thankfully I had thought ahead an saved the original. Reading is fundamental kids. I am revising this written work to be better than it was. In order to avoid confusion I deleted the previous chapters, but! I have saved the original chapters and the original work. If you would like to have a copy of those things, just let me know what's the best way to share it with you. Again, this is a re-writing of the story so it will have differences to the original story. 
> 
> Thank you for your time, and be sure to read the endnotes as well!

_Prelude_

 

She remembers her high school years with deep vividness. What others had forgotten about, she remembered with desperate sureness. There were no doubts in her memory. Not when she had been so meticulous in storing away details and names and...other things.

 

The floors creaked in her music theory classroom’s entryway. Dust blanketed empty classrooms, and trees burst into life during Spring. Her locker number had been 1707, it next to Chrom’s locker, whose was next to Maribelle’s. She remembers the courtyard where she and her friends loitered around in before leaving for their own after-school activities.

 

And most of all, she remembers---.

 

No. She can't think too much. If she thinks too much, she won't ever finish this essay. Subconsciously and consciously, she longed for what could not be.

 

Her fingers typed away at an essay that would not be finished in time for its deadline. It was for some English course, and her topic was lost to her. So she typed long sentences and hoped that her professor would not see through her filler. She would argue that this essay was decently paced and that she was on the right track despite no planning whatsoever.

 

Did she willingly enroll in this English course? No. She could not be blamed for her shoddy work. This was a required credit that she made peace with not achieving high marks in. She made peace. She swears she did. But still, she typed. She wanted to submit this on time because if she didn’t her already barely there “A” would become a pitifully low-achieving “B.” At least, that’s what her academic insecurities would label her grade as. Everything about her was starting to become low-achieving.

 

She should look into getting a meeting with her academic advisor. She needed to change her major. She needed to. She could not perform, therefore she should not be a music performance major. How could she disgrace a stage with herself? She needed to change majors so that she could be happy again. If she was happy again, maybe then everyone would stop worrying and meddling and calling and everything else people that care do.

 

The clock above her study area read that forty-five minutes had passed since her last “quick” glance at the time. She was still eight pages away from her professor’s minimum word-count requirement. She willed her energy and focus unto this paper, though she hoped for a distraction.

 

Wait.

 

Her phone was ringing. It was in her room somewhere, probably tossed haphazardly amongst other untouched things. She rose from her desk and made way to her room. Finding the damned thing took longer than she had expected. Underneath a pile of music books that were no longer of use, she found her phone singing its ringtone. She’s hit with a temporary pain.

 

“Gaius?”

 

 _“Hey, Stumbles, how ya been?”_ He wanted something.

 

“Are you trying to bring back that nickname? I’ve been fine, how about you?” She wasn’t going to give it to him.

 

She paced waiting for his sighing to evolve into words, _“A nickname sticks no matter what, not my fault you outgrew it. I’ve been doing alright, trying to not get fired, the usual. Listen, Sumia, I’m bad at this, so I’m just going to go right ahead and just ask, you, uh, free tonight?”_

 

She paused to look at her phone’s clock, “Depends.”

 

_“What you got some other plans or something?”_

 

“No, but I might not want to go to whatever you’re inviting me to.”

 

_“I was just inviting you to grab a bite to eat. It’d be my treat, and I just want to catch up since it’s been weeks….since….y’know….we last spoke to each other.”_

 

Guilt made a home in her heart a long time ago, and now it was just reminding her it was still there. There was still enough time in the day for her to finish her essay (she naively told herself), and it wouldn’t hurt to see Gaius.

 

“I guess I can do dinner.”

 

_“Great, I’ll send you the details, I guess in like a few minutes, and we’ll just meet there or something.”_

 

They said their goodbyes, and by the time Sumia brought her phone away from her ear, Gaius had already sent her an address to whatever food place he wanted to go to. He probably sent her the first restaurant that popped up in his suggestions. She hurriedly replied back to him, sending an excuse that she needed enough time to fix her hair

 

They hadn’t talked for weeks because of her decision not to reach out to anyone. She hadn’t responded to anyone’s anything either. Her inbox was full of unread messages and unanswered calls. She knows her absence worried them.

 

Given that she did not share any classes with her friends, her escape had been easy. Cherche could try to flag her down all she wanted, but she could not bring Sumia to a full stop. Coffee offers were declined; Sumia was not feeling well and rain checks were made. Sumia had made avoiding them an art. She was an artist who would not rest until her craft was perfected; it was now.

 

But she was sure she could indulge them in this evening. She was sure she could throw on a smile for their sake.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Gaius had stubble around his chin that scratched her cheek in their hug. He smelled the same; he smiled the same too. His grin faltered when their eyes met for too long, and she knew that she wasn’t the same then.

 

Their waiter seated them right away; Gaius thought of her and requested a corner table. He picked up his menu out of courtesy, she knew. Each waitress and waiter seemed to know him too well. Sumia was a stranger to this small restaurant. He was not, but he was making a delicate effort to not spook his deer caught in the lamplight.

 

He had coaxed her out with his snarky attitude, but she could still leave whenever she wanted. She could if she wanted to.

 

“Soooo,” he set his menu down, “How ya been?”

 

She glanced up at him, “You already asked that earlier, but I’ve been well.”

 

Gaius moved his seat closer, “It’s been like three hours since then. Maybe something changed between then and now. Like, what if some jackoff bumped into you on your way here and ruined your day.”

 

“It would take a lot more than some guy bumping into me to ruin my day, Gaius.”

 

Despite his easy demeanor, nervous energy was radiating off him. He had probably been forced to do this by the rest of their circle of friends. He had never been one for confrontation, not even when he had been accused of theft in high school. She could picture him calmly explaining to the rest of them that all she needed was time. ‘She’ll come around,’ he would say cooly.

 

She appreciated that of him; he did not pry where he was not wanted. He understood boundaries better than anyone else.

 

“So how're classes going?”

 

“They’ve been good.”

 

He nodded to himself. She smiled to herself.

 

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I would think this was a date. Why are you nervous?”

 

“Gross,” a faint blush graced his features.

 

“Are you?”

 

“Am I what? Nervous? Nah.”

 

She grinned half-heartedly, “Are you sure? You have a tendency to nod your head too much when you are.”

 

Their waiter came around to take their order, and Sumia just repeated everything Gaius carefully told the waiter. Gaius studied her; all she could do was allow him time.

 

“Sumia, we’re worried. That’s all.”

 

There it is. She congratulated herself for guessing his intentions. A fabricated dinner with one person confronting another. She had been preparing herself for this conversation for some time now. She hadn’t thought of this outcome though. She had always imagined that Maribelle or Lon’qu would be sitting in front of her. Their gazes would pierce her self-made armor in seconds, and she would be left hunched over and sobbing.

 

But Gaius was not them.

 

“Ever since that performance back in September, you’ve been MIA.”

 

He had been given what to say, yet he was fumbling with them, “I’m no fancy-schmancy piano player like you, but even I know that one bad performance is not the end of your music career or anything really.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been the finals of the International Chopin Piano competition; it had been a full house. All of her friends had attended; each gave her a tight hug of love and wished her good luck. Her nerves weren't letting up, and she had felt sick all morning.

 

She was captivated by every performance. She had been twenty-fourth on the set-list---

 

 

* * *

 

 

No. No recollecting. She breathed in deeply and stilled her movements. She resisted an intrinsic urge to run away. “It’s more than just one bad performance.”

 

“Then what is it? What’s this all about then?” He inched closer, his entire demeanor becoming rigid.

 

“If I tell you, you’re going to think it’s ridiculous. I can't begin to explain it to myself, how could I explain it to you?”

 

“At least try.”

 

“No.” She refused to look at him. “I don't want to talk about it.”

 

“If you don't open up about it, then how are you going to work through this?”

 

“Can we please drop this? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

 

Why was he insisting? His lazy demeanor always allowed room for herself, but now he was imposing. Couldn’t he tell that she was not capable of giving him answers? She was looking for them herself. And she had yet to find any that made sense.

 

“No, you have to talk about it. I’m here for you. We’re all here for you. Let us help you.”

 

Abruptly, she grabbed her purse and ruffled through for some cash. In contained anger, she firmly placed enough money to cover her share of their bill. She left. This hadn’t been planned. If only she had the right words.

 

She had already tried explaining it to her mother, and yet her mother shrugged off her words. Her mother insisted for her to continue to practice what just wasn’t there anymore. Sumia felt hollow; she felt worse and worse as she continued to walk farther away from Gaius.

 

Cold wind bit her cheeks. Gaius called out to her, but she did not turn around to see him. He could follow her, but she would just pick up her pace. If she had the energy to at least. His light footsteps were barely recognizable in the midst of all the night-time traffic, but she knew he had caught up with her.

 

He didn’t reach out his hand to grab her shoulder, but she stopped anyways. “You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to talk about it with me. But you should talk about it with someone.” His sincerity made whatever tears she had left well up in her eyes. “I’m not any good with this stuff, so I might mess up and say the wrong thing, but I really think you should talk about it. It might help you find a way to make sense of what you’re going through right now.”

 

“Gaius,” she slowly turned towards him, “I’m just tired. I’m tired of trying to, to- I feel awful more days than I feel happy.”

 

And as if Naga above felt her sadness, rain fell over them.

 

He opened his arms in invitation. She slumped into him allowing herself to be held tightly, suffocating under Gaius’s care. “Okay. That’s okay.”

 

“It’s not,” she hadn’t yet cried, “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

 

“If you don’t want to, then we can work on it. I’ll provide the sugar, and you just do what you need to do for yourself. Whatever it is, do it.”

 

“I don’t know what I need.”

 

“Then...then...we’ll figure something out, Sumia.”

 

She knew he didn’t deserve her burdens, but it felt cathartic to speak what she hid. She knows she’ll remember how she cried to heart’s content. It had begun to pour, yet Gaius stood undeterred shielding her from it. She felt small and weak. She was both those things, but Gaius held her together.

 

She could do this. She could overcome this.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Still, she thought of wine-red hair and pale cheeks. Sumia thinks she would have found solace in an embrace she cannot remember.


	2. Gymnopédies No. 1 - Lent et douloureux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A violin and Sumia meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay of this chapter. Several edits were made, and this is the version I think best fits with the rest of Sumia's narrative. Please do read the chapter notes at the end of this!

It was a wonder how Mr. Amano kept his business afloat. There would be days, such as this one, where Sumia repeatedly rearranged their selection of music magazines. No one had come in yet today, and it had already been three hours since her shift started.

 

She wiped down the counter of imaginary stains that only her bored mind could see. She stuck her tongue out as she scrubbed a particularly tough spot. One, two, three, four, and repeat. Her arm moved methodologically around the counter; Sumia had nothing else to do.

 

“Sumia, do you think that friend of yours would be willing to help me deliver that piano to Ms. Ai?” Mr. Amano spoke loudly enough to snap her out of her cleaning daze.

 

Sumia nodded her head, “I’m sure Gaius has some time.”

 

“Tell him that I’ll pay him with exposure,” Mr. Amano laughed at his small joke, “With him opening a bakery and all, he’ll need my customers.”

 

She forced a small smile, “I’ll let him know to keep his schedule free.”

 

“When you’re done with the counter go to the back and do inventory,” he shifted his focus between her and her spotless counter.

 

Inventory of what? They haven’t sold anything in the past few days, and she knows this because she does inventory every day. Unless he’s dealing business behind her back, Mr. Amano hasn’t been selling anything.

 

“But I did it yesterday,” Sumia whispered in protest.

 

Mr. Amano gave her a pointed look, “Do inventory, and then you can go home for the night.”

 

Windchimes ushered new customers right into Mr. Amano’s attention. He brightened considerably, and she also fixed a smile on her face. A mother and son shuffled in a shy manner over to them.

 

“Hello, how may I help you today?” His old cheeriness brought recognizable ease. Sumia waved lamely at them in greeting.

 

“My son needs a piano for his lessons,” explained the mother, “My friends all recommended I dropped by here.” Only through word of mouth did they get business. Mr. Amano did not invest any money into ad space. “I also was told by my husband that a famous retired pianist works here.”

 

“Oh, your husband may be confusing us with another shop. Though I don’t want to toot my own horn,” he did want to, “I am a recognized composer. I know a thing or two about music, famous or not.”

 

“Really? He said it was a young woman, but looking back on it now, he must have been thinking of something else.” Sumia had escaped to their backroom before Mr. Amano could even mention her.

 

She breathed out relief once she was hidden amongst shelves and bookcases. Her nerves were still settling themselves even though she a good distance away from potentially prying eyes. She looked around her familiar comfort and began counting away everything.

 

It was nostalgic to be in the middle of violins and violas and flutes and smaller instruments that Mr. Amano kept away from eyes that meddled too much with his store. The fine dust comforted her in ways that a warm cup of coffee comforted others.

 

This room had housed her when people inevitably recognized her. They would ask her questions that were invasive; she didn’t want to talk about her playing or the piano. Mr. Amano began to acknowledge her discomfort after the first handful of encounters, and he grew careful with diverting attention away from her. Though they hadn’t formally addressed it, he understood that playing was and is a sensitive issue for her despite its oldness.

 

It had been years since she had last touched a piano with an intention of playing more than a few notes; it had been years since _that_ performance she couldn’t fondly reminisce about. No. She was not going to think about what had already been laid to rest.

 

She sighed to herself when her numbers began to match yesterday’s numbers. What would be the point of wasting her time counting if nothing had changed? At least she could go home afterward.

 

Sumia turned to Mr. Amano’s prized violins and wilted under their delicate look. Violins were also a sore spot. They reminded her of---Nope. No thinking about that. She glanced around, and it was until her last look around that she registered a new piece of wood. Fine wood.

 

She left everything else uncounted; she had questions.

 

Mr. Amano was still showing their new customers around their display pianos (all three of them). “But if none of these feel like they suit you, we have a catalog of every piano we are willing to sell that you can browse through.” They were all stored in some facility only old man Amano knew about, and Sumia still had not decided if that was for the best or not.

 

She took her chance once mother and son had left Mr. Amano’s side. “I noticed we have a new violin.” And where did it come from is her unsaid question.

 

He looked smug, “I thought you didn't care if there was anything new.”

 

“That’s not true, and usually there isn't even anything remotely new back there.” There were times when Mr. Amano really knew how to get under her skin. Like an annoying relative.

 

He kept his attention on their customers, “If you really want to know, it was a generous donation made by a member of some community club nearby.”

 

That just created so many more questions for her, “A donation? That violin looks too taken care of.” Who would donate such a well-designed piece of woodwork to an odd music shop? She wouldn’t. It looked so handsome even collecting dust.

 

He picked up on her unasked question, “An anonymous donor is was what a club representative said. They simply said through their messenger that they did not see a need to keep a violin around anymore.”

 

“Even if it’s no longer played, an instrument should be kept.” Her father told her stories of forgotten instruments, and she mourned their abandonment. Her own piano still took up space.

 

He nodded solemnly, “Perhaps...it was a gift?”

 

“It’s always a gift, isn’t it? People can fall out of love with music.”

 

“You haven’t.”

 

She hadn’t. Her fingers ached to be stretched across ivorite keys. She couldn’t allow herself to play more than a few keys. Anything more would ruin her illusion of normalcy.

 

As their conversation reached a lull, both mother and son interrupted their shared silence. “I think we’ll be taking one of these home, but my son would like to look through your catalog.”

 

“I’ll get that for you, little sir,” Mr. Amano cheerily stated, “I was just wishing my favorite employee a good night.” His only employee had to be his favorite. She smiled thinly at him.

 

She turned to the woman, “I hope your son does well in his lessons.” Said boy latched to every one of Mr. Amano’s words.

 

A proud smile spread across her opposite’s features, “Thank you, that is very sweet of you to say.”

 

Sumia bid them all goodbye and left windchimes in her wake.

 

Fall weather complimented her maroon colored sweater. Cold air hugged her cheeks, despite her favorite scarf decorating her neck. She breathed in and out five times in ritual; her walk home could not commence if she did not release some tension from her shoulders.

 

When she began walking, a mess of blonde hair tackled to a stop, “Auntie! We’ve been waiting for forever!”

 

“Owain, careful not to pull on her clothes.”

 

Owain mumbled an apology Sumia had to decipher. Her hand ruffled his hair lazily, “It’s alright, Maribelle, he didn’t mean to.”

 

Though she was carrying a very drooling Brady, Maribelle’s posture was nothing short of poised. She seemed to do everything effortlessly, Sumia noted. “What’s the occasion?”

 

Maribelle laughed her easy laugh, “I knew you were going to forget.”

 

“What?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m sorry for making you all wait.”

 

She had apologized profusely to Maribelle throughout their car ride. She even went as far as promising to take care of Owain and Brady for an entire month’s worth of weekends. (“Don’t use my children against me.” “I’m not, I just want to give you and Lissa some time to yourselves.”)

 

“I’m sure Mari’s given you an earful, but don’t think you need to apologize. What matters is that you’re here now,” Lissa welcomed her with a warm hug. Sumia much liked Lissa at times like these.

 

“Come now, let’s start dinner,” Maribelle called them from a busy dining room.

 

She was seated between Lon’qu and Gaius; dinner would be eventful with Gaius’s jabs at everyone else. Everyone’s reactions were great work retellings, and Mr. Amano’s laughter encouraged to share her dinner details often.

 

“Sumia, I got a question for ya. How do forget your own birthday dinner?”

 

One could hear his smugness, “Just be happy that I didn’t forget yours.” Lon’qu laughed loudly, which was rare, and so Sumia smiled widely at her success.

 

Maribelle had prepared dinner, Gaius whispered to her, and she could tell because Lissa was being more affectionate than usual. With Owain having turned three this past summer, Lissa always had her hands full. He took to being fussy, stubborn, grouchy, and grumpy on bad days like bears take to honey. Unfortunately, from Lon’qu’s whispers, today had been a bad day.

 

But having company over seemed to calm Owain into a good mood. A good mood distracted him from any possible tantrums. He spoke excitedly about his comic book heroes with Maribelle at one end of the table. She spoon-fed Brady orange mush, but she still paid even attention to Owain. Whenever he spoke to Sumia about heroes and villains, she tried her best to follow despite not knowing what name went to what hero.

 

“I’m sure she’s had a lot on her mind today,” Cherche sipped at her wine, “I become forgetful whenever I’m busy.”

 

Lissa returned from the kitchen with a large bowl of mixed salad, and dinner began at her seating. All of Sumia’s favorite foods were spread across Maribelle and Lissa’s eight-seat dining table. Olivia had been the last to arrive; she had picked up dessert (and her birthday cake). Hushed whispers were exchanged between Cherche and Olivia, and Sumia knew then that Cherche had asked her girlfriend for this favor.  

 

They talk about everything.

 

Lissa vibrantly walked everyone through Owain’s adventures in daycare.

 

“He bit someone because they said they hated Batman.”

 

Gaius laughed mid-bite, “I would too.”

 

“I swear to god, Gaius, if you encourage him anymore, I will castrate you.”

 

He smirked, “Try it. Then who’s going to keep my bakery open?”

 

“You’re still painting its walls,” Lon’qu muttered, “You haven’t opened it yet, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

 

A dramatic gasp broke from within Gaius, “You wouldn’t even open it up in my honor?”

 

“I don’t want to spend my free time tending to a bakery when I can’t even bake.” Lon’qu shared a smile with everyone else. “Between commissions and working at Basilio’s gym, I can’t be bothered.”

 

Gaius was left alone after that comment, but his pouting face was captured forever by Cherche’s phone. “Hey, hey, no pictures! Let me be angsty in peace.”

 

“Olivia, how are your classes going?” Lissa had always been interested in those classes, though she would never enroll in them herself. Sumia just breathed out relief, she was happy to not be asked about her for once. “It’s your senior year right?”

 

“It is.” Olivia tucked a stray hair behind her ear. She became bashful whenever everyone’s attention was on her. Sumia felt the same way. “It’s hard to believe I’ll be graduating this spring term.”

 

“But my classes are going well. This term I’m being put in charge of a younger dance class at a studio my university is partnered with.” She did not stutter, but she did not look at anyone in particular.

 

“So like high schoolers?”

 

Olivia shook her head at Lissa’s question. “It’s a toddler class actually. I would probably be overwhelmed if my students were any older than that. I think younger kids will be easier to handle.”

 

Sumia remembers how much of a handful she had been when she was in school. Her mother still slipped in complaints during their calls. She was sure her father had his own, but he had never explicitly shared them with her.

 

Owain excitedly perked up, “Dancing?! I like dancing, Momma! I want to be in auntie’s dance class!!!”

 

She wondered if only she had caught a glimpse of Olivia’s bright blush at Owain’s insistent title. Cherche and Olivia had only just passed their six-month mark, yet Olivia had quickly become a regular in so many of their outings. She got an invitation to everything; Owain’s preschool graduation, Lon’qu’s first gallery appearance, and even Maribelle’s annual summer company party. And none of that was any surprise, really. Sumia was, is, smitten with the bashful young woman (but not in that way either).

 

“Are you sure? You really want to?” Lissa’s contained excitement was barely contained.

 

Though Maribelle had dedicated fifteen years of her life to ballet and other fine arts, Lissa held more enthusiasm for them. Due to all her dabbles in every possible career in her undeclared college life, Lissa truly appreciated a good dance.

 

Owain’s rapid nodding answered her questions, but she could not pry anymore before he ran off to whatever mischievous act he had been in the middle of. Sumia smiled at his cape that zoomed right behind him. Maribelle had already excused him from the table sometime between their grilling of Gaius and Olivia. He had refused to eat all of his peas, but Maribelle let him go without much of a fight.

 

Once they had all cleared their plates of everything excluding a crumb or two, both Lissa and Maribelle pulled Olivia aside for more information on her dance class. Cherche, Lon’qu, and Gaius, with plates in hand, slipped past Sumia to “clean up”. She knew better though. They were really awful at planning surprises.

 

Sumia took her seat once again. In this empty dining room with not even Brady to play with, she was left by herself. It hurt in a strange way. It hurt in a shallow way.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A long sigh escaped her once she managed to get her apartment door open. She pushed herself into her living room, her legs heavy with weak exhaustion. Her shoulders ached somewhat from her time at work, and once dinner’s excitement had settled, she became even more worn down.

 

Though Gaius hadn’t baked her cake himself, he still took his time with decorating it. Red velvet had always been her favorite cake, but this time its icing really stole the show. It had been her favorite part. Owain had a piece too many, but she’ll deny all claims against her if Lissa ever questioned her about it. It helped that neither Maribelle or Lissa had been really paying attention to Owain’s plate.

 

Then she had excused herself. She hugged everyone goodbye. She waved off any attempts made in walking her out. She had visited that house enough times to do so by herself.

 

Her apartment reeked of loneliness and dinner-for-one meals. She slinked down into her spot on her couch. Most days she slept her. Its lumpiness being decent enough that she didn’t wake up with any backaches or cricks in her neck. She avoided her room.

 

Its walls were adorned with various music sheets, both blank and full. Shelves along her bedroom walls proudly displayed awards she had won over her years of playing. She refused to sleep there. It inspired late night self-loathing.

 

She should wash her face. She should change into her pajamas. She should look into replacing her plants who had died from her negligence. She should do her laundry. She should look into instrument moving services. She should------it could wait. She could it tomorrow morning. She always could do it another time.

 

Lazily, she pulled a blanket over herself. Her body couldn’t be bothered to exert any more energy, but that did not stop her mind from thinking up all sorts of thoughts. Her memory did not let her forget about the violin from earlier today. She thought of its slightly, barely, curved bow. Its neck had been in pristine condition, but its chinrest had been well-used. That violin had been loved.

 

But now it’s sitting in a small music shop’s storage space. Whether anyone would play it again would be its only thought, if violins had thoughts. Why was she thinking these ridiculous things? Violins are just instruments. Just expensive pieces of wood that play wonderfully constructed pieces of art that Sumia misses.

 

She willed her eyes shut. She should sleep. She worked early tomorrow, and Mr. Amano would not let her live down her tardiness.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Maybe she was being nostalgic, but something about that violin feels familiar to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I delayed this chapter because, in all honesty, the first draft I had of it was tragic. The edits for this took more time than expected, and I am sure there are still mistakes, but I could not make you guys wait anymore. Then my friend adopted a cat, and as a seasoned pet owner, it was my duty to serve as a guide. It's his first pet so he would call me up for anything and everything, but I didn't mind. 
> 
> This chapter is always my favorite to write. Please share your thoughts! Ask all the questions!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this new prologue. I am interested to hear what old readers think of it, and I am excited for new readers to share their thoughts on this essentially new work of mine (not really). I apologize for the wait I put everyone through. I thought of this story most days, but I could not bring myself to do wrong by these characters. I wanted for the chapters to feel right, and for a long time, they weren't feeling that way. I am working on this story at a pace that allows me to make mistakes. I cannot guarantee an update schedule that is consistent, but I will let you all know that the actual first chapter will be uploaded sometime this week. Again I apologize to old readers, I am just really dumb for not having carefully read through my options on the editing page...
> 
> Since I don't have a full-time editor, I suspect there are some mistakes and grammatical errors that I can't catch right now, so I will check on it tomorrow morning or as soon as I can. If you want a copy of the original chapters/story, please also share in your comment what the best way to share it with you would be!
> 
> \- Mayte


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